Hot Lemon
by MooseOnARoof
Summary: Wilson has a cold but House wants sex. House tries some persuasive techniques. House/Wilson established. Not explicit, mild profanity


_**Wilson has a cold but House wants sex. House tries some persuasive techniques. H/W establiahed relationship.**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own them. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans._

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Wilson barely flinched when House wrapped an arm around his waist. He did manage to muster one of those weird half groan, half grumble things he was so fond of making in his semi-sleeping state, but it came out horribly wrong. A bizarre, nasal, foghorn noise followed by a less than graceful splutter, finally culminating in him sitting up in bed, sniffing and holding his hand under his nose. "House?"

House's grip on Wilson's waist meant he was dragged forward from his pillow when Wilson had sat up. Now he lay at an obtuse angle, his face buried into the dark linen. "Mm-mm?" He dropped his hand and moved himself back into a more comfortable position.

"Cand you pass the mendthol?" Wilson sniffed hard, sending him somewhat light-headed.

"Can you stop putting 'd's on the end of everything? You sound like your talking in code."

"I cand't help it." Wilson titled his head back in a desperate attempt to stop the flow from his nose.

"You could just not talk. That would be helpful for both of us." House sighed theatrically before slipping his hand into the bottom draw of the night stand and pulling out a tub of menthol rub. "Here you big baby." He threw the blue tub into Wilson's lap.

"I'm not a baby." Wilson unscrewed the lid and began liberally massaging the menthol rub to his chest, and swiped a line of it beneath his nose. "House, could you rub some ond my back?"

"No."

"Oh come ond. Please. I cand't reach."

"Will you promise to not snore or make those awful gurgling noises you made last night? I felt like I was sleeping next to drowning animal."

"I wasn't that bad." Wilson handed the tub to House before flipping onto his front.

"I nearly smothered you with a pillow. In fact, I probably should have done. Would have saved me listening to your snotty wheezing all night." House propped himself with his left arm and grasped a lump of menthol rub from the tub. He found himself pausing, casting a glance over Wilson's back, admiring the smooth curvature of the spine and the strategically covered ass beneath the sheet. Wilson always had been a little prudish even though House thought he had little to be embarrassed about.

It felt sort of wrong, being turned on in this situation. Wilson was a dripping, sniffing, wheezing, sweating wreck, which isn't usually what he would exactly call a massive turn on. But even in illness, Wilson still managed to stir something within him, more specifically within his pants.

"House, what you are doing?" Wilson lifted his head and sniffed.

"Be quiet." House began sliding his hands between Wilson's shoulder blades, kneading the rub into the younger man's skin. Slipping one hand further down towards Wilson's waist, he moved the other towards the shoulder, making gentle circles with his palms.

"House." A weary, pillow-muffled voice garbled from the dark. "My ass is not where my cold is."

Foiled. Wilson was getting good at spotting his ulterior motives. He sometimes wishes for the Wilson of old; the blinkered, emotionally dense, sexually confused man who stumbled around in the dark, staggering from skirt to skirt, because then he could get away with such unsubtle attempts of persuasion. But these thoughts are fleeting and disappear as fast as they come because he knows that this relationship would never have happened with the Wilson of old. He grumbled before sliding his hand back between Wilson's shoulder blades.

"Don't sulk." Wilson hacked a chesty cough and grabbed a tissue from his night stand. "I'm ind no conditiond to give into your sexual whimb."

"Well I'm in no condition to listen to your nasal whining but I still have to do it."

Wilson blew hard into the scrunched tissue. "Hey. I can go and sleep in the spare roomb if you like."

"Don't try and pull the guilt trip with your snot and your watery eyes." He eyed up Wilson's diligently prepared pout and puppy dog eyes. "Neither of us are using that bed of torture."

"If you hate it so much why don't you throw it out? You did bring it here." Wilson buried his head into his pillow, leaving a small gap for himself to breath through the crook of his arm.

"I've had it for years."

"Thend keep it."

"But it's like a bed of nails."

"Thend throw it away."

House paused and then smiled. "Nicely done. Steering the conversation to something so un-sexy." He scooted over, crossing the imaginary line down the middle of the bed separating his side from Wilson's, and curled up closer to Wilson's drowsy form.

"I tried." Wilson heaved a gasp of air in a pathetic attempt to unblock his nose. He failed miserably.

It seemed he had to be a little more proactive with his approach. House wrapped his arm around Wilson's shoulder and began massaging his earlobe between his index and forefinger, while planting a lingering kiss on Wilson's left shoulder. "Are you sure you can't be persuaded just a tiny bit?"

"You're like a dog with a bone. Literally."

House slithered a hand down to Wilson's ass, hoping that the second time would work a charm. When Wilson responded with little more than a grunt and a twitch of his buttock, House knew he was in with a pretty good chance of getting something from this exchange. Wilson's neck was the next port of call. Nuzzling his head between Wilson's shoulder and head, he began setting his lips across the warm, smooth skin beneath.

"Mmmmm. House stop it." Wilson wiggled his shoulders.

"'Mmmmm' denotes enjoyment. So you're doing a pretty poor impression of somebody who doesn't want this." He gently placed his finger on Wilson's chin and pulled his face away from the pillows. He felt Wilson's muscles relax, the tension exuding from his body. Wilson was facing him now, all red nosed from the constant wiping and sneezing, all red eyed from the constant rubbing. This wasn't so sexy. He had preferred it when Wilson had his face in the pillows. Never mind.

He cupped a hand around Wilson's face with the intention of getting embroiled in some tongue tennis but Wilson wasn't playing ball. Wilson was receptive to the soft puckers he placed on his cheeks and lips, but if he tried to mine any further, he was stopped dead in his tracks by a pair of resolute, tight lips. What a crushing disappointment. "Open wide."

Wilson jerked his head back. "I don't wand you getting my cold."

House rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, I don't give a shit about getting your cold. We're already kissing anyway so your point is moot."

He carefully prised Wilson's lips open with his tongue, this time there was no resistance. Their warm, moist tongues mixed around their mouths, and House could feel the stirrings from before make a quick and promising comeback. Wilson seemed to be enjoying himself too, his hands straying up and down House's ribs, occasionally running his fingers around the edge of House's nipples. The fact that Wilson had no way to expel those odd grunting noises he was prone to make during foreplay and sex, added an eerie, but pleasurable silence to the whole experience.

It only occurred to House when Wilson started thumping fists onto his shoulder and back, that this may have been a bad thing,

Wilson inhaled rapidly, sucking at the air like a fish out of water. "I cand't breath."

"God, Wilson, you have great timing." House watched with a mixture of amusement and disappointment as Wilson gulped in the air. "Stop gasping you idiot. Take deep breaths."

"I'mb..sorry."

House folded his arms and pouted. He could see Wilson was sorry; he could see the guilt swimming around in those brown pools, but he still wanted to milk the situation, just a little bit. "You owe me."

Wilson froze, a mixed patchwork of bemusement, tiredness and guilt was stitched all over his face. "Wha?"

"Nothing." House inwardly cursed his newly unearthed soft side. He knew he could have got a lay tomorrow out of that, and he knew with anyone else he would have got it and even if not, he would have tried much harder. Wilson had turned him into a soft bastard.

Fucking Wilson. Wilson and that stupid hair, and his stupid eyes, and his stupid face, and the stupid way his eyebrows twitch as he is about to fall asleep.

He nudged Wilson in the arm with his elbow. "Hey."

"Mm-mm?" The ball of mussed hair rose from the linen, casting dopey looking eyes in House's direction.

"Do you want something to drink?"

Wilson seemed to take an eternity to process the question but eventually spilled out an affirmative groan. "Hot lemond would be nice."

He clocked the dozy delight on Wilson's face "One hot lemon coming up." Perhaps being soft wasn't such a bad thing.


End file.
